“Those tits, as you put it,” he said dryly, “attracted a billion people. My prime concern is beating the competition. And I’m doing that.”

“But you’re turning yourself into the ultimate paparazzo. Is that the limit of your vision? You have such — power — to do good.”

He smiled. “Good? What does good have to do with it? I have to give people what they want, Manzoni. If I don’t, some other bastard will. Anyway I don’t see what you’re complaining about. I ran your piece on England invading Scotland. That was genuine hard-core news.”

“But you trivialized it by wrapping it up in tabloid garbage! Just as you trivialize the whole water-war issue. Look, the UN hydrology convention has been a joke.”

“I don’t need another lecture on the issues of the day, Manzoni. You know, you’re so pompous. But you understand so little. Don’t you get it? People don’t want to know about the issues. Because of you and your damn Wormwood, people understand that the issues just don’t matter. It doesn’t matter how we pump water around the planet, or any of the rest of it, because the Wormwood is going to scrape it all away anyhow. All people want is entertainment. Distraction.”

“And that’s the limit of your ambition?”

He shrugged. “What else is there to do?”

She snorted her disgust. “You know, your monopoly won’t last forever. There’s a lot of speculation in the industry and the media about how you’re achieving all your scoops. It can’t be long before somebody figures it out and repeats your research.”

“I have patents.”

“Oh, sure, that will protect you. If you keep this up you’ll have nothing left to hand on to Bobby.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you talk about my son. You know, every day I regret bringing you in here, Manzoni. You’ve brought in some good stories. But you have no sense of balance, no sense at all.”

“Balance? Is that what you call it? Using the WormCam for nothing more than celebrity beaver shots?”

A soft bell tone sounded. Hiram lifted his head to the air. “I said I wasn’t to be interrupted.”

The Search Engine’s inoffensive tones sounded from the air. “I’m afraid I have an override, Mr. Patterson.”

“What kind of override?”

“There’s a Michael Mavens here to see you. You too, Ms. Manzoni.”

“Mavens? I don’t know any…”

“He’s from the FBI, Mr. Patterson. The Federal Bureau of…”

“I know what the FBI is.” Hiram thumped his desk, frustrated. “One bloody thing after another.”

At last, Kate thought.

Hiram glared at her. “Just watch what you say to this arsehole.”

She frowned. “This government-appointed law enforcement arsehole from the FBI, you mean? Even you answer to the law, Hiram. I’ll say what I think best.”

He clenched a fist, seemed ready to say more, then just shook his head. He stalked to his picture window, and the blue light of the sky, filtered through the tinted glass, evoked highlights from his bald pate. “Bloody hell,” he said. “Bloody, bloody hell.”

Michael Mavens, FBI Special Agent, wore the standard issue charcoal-grey suit, collarless shirt and shoelace tie. He was blond, whiplash thin, and he looked as if he had played a lot of squash, no doubt at some ultra-competitive FBI academy.

He seemed remarkably young to Kate: no more than mid- to late twenties. And he was nervous, dragging awkwardly at the chair Hiram offered him, rumbling with his briefcase as he opened it and dug out a SoftScreen.

Kate glanced at Hiram. She saw calculation in his broad, dark face; Hiram had spotted this agent’s surprising discomfort too.

After showing them his badge, Mavens said, “I’m glad to find you both here, Mr. Patterson, Ms. Manzoni. I’m investigating an apparent security breach.”

Hiram went on the attack. “What authorization do you have?”

Mavens hesitated. “Mr. Patterson, I’m hoping we can all be a little more constructive than that.”

“Constructive?” Hiram snapped. “What kind of answer is that? Are you acting without authorization?” He reached for a telephone icon in his desktop.

Mavens said calmly, “I know your secret.”

Hiram’s hand hovered over the glowing symbol, then withdrew.

Mavens smiled. “Search Engine. Security cover FBI level three four, authorization Mavens M. K. Confirm please.”

After a few seconds, the Search Engine reported back, “Cover in place. Special Agent Mavens.”

Mavens nodded. “We can speak openly.”

Kate sat down opposite Mavens, intrigued, puzzled, nervous.

Mavens spread his SoftScreen flat on the desktop. It showed a picture of a big white-capped military helicopter. Mavens said, “Do you recognize this?”

Hiram leaned closer. “It’s a Sikorsky, I think.”

“Actually a VH-3D,” said Mavens.

“It’s Marine One,” said Kate. “The President’s helicopter.”

Mavens eyed her. “That’s right. As I’m sure you both know, the President and her husband have spent the last couple of days in Cuba at the UN hydrology conference. They’ve been using Marine One out there. Yesterday, during a short flight, a brief and private conversation took place between President Juarez and English Prime Minister Huxtable.” He tapped the ’Screen, and it revealed a blocky schematic of the helicopter’s interior. “The Sikorsky is a big bird for such an antique, but it is packed with communication gear. It has only ten seats. Five are taken up by Secret Service agents, a doctor, and military and personal aides to the President.”

Hiram seemed intrigued. “I guess one of those aides has the football.”

Mavens looked pained. “We don’t use a ‘football’ any more, Mr. Patterson. On this occasion the other passengers, in addition to President Juarez herself, were Mr. Juarez, the chief of staff, Prime Minister Huxtable and an English security agent.

“All of these people — and the pilots — have the highest possible security clearances, which in the case of the agents and other staff are checked daily. Mr. Huxtable, of course, despite his old-style title, holds an office equivalent to a state governor. Marine One itself is swept several times a day. Despite your virtual melodramas about spies and double agents, Mr. Patterson, modern anti-surveillance measures are pretty foolproof. And besides, the President and Mr. Huxtable were isolated in side a security curtain even within the Sikorsky. We don’t know of any way those various levels of security can be breached.” He turned his pale brown eyes on Kate. “And yet, apparently, they were.

“Your news report was accurate, Ms. Manzoni. Juarez and Huxtable did hold a conversation about the possibility of a military solution to England’s dispute with Scotland over water supplies.

“But we have testimony from Mr. Huxtable that his speculation about invading Scotland is — was — private and personal. The notion is his, he hadn’t committed it to paper or electronic store, or discussed it with anybody, not his Cabinet, not even his partner. His conversation with President Juarez was actually the first time he’d articulated the idea out loud, to gauge the extent of the President’s support for such a proposal, if formulated.

“And at the time you broke the story, neither the Prime Minister nor the President had discussed this with anybody else.” He glared at Kate, “Ms, Manzoni, you see the situation. The only possible source for your story is the Juarez-Huxtable conversation itself.”

Hiram stood beside Kate. “She’s not going to reveal her sources to a goon like you.”

Mavens rubbed his face and sat back. “I have to tell you, sir, that bugging the Prez is going to land you with a list of federal charges as long as your arm. An interagency team is investigating this matter. And the President is pretty angry herself. OurWorld could be shut down. And you, Ms. Manzoni, will be lucky to evade jail.”